Jack,
So, right about now, you're probably cursing my name, both for getting myself killed and for being stupidly sentimental enough to have written this. I can almost hear your scoff and see your eyes rolling. But I also know, whether you want to admit it or not, inside … you're hurting that I'm gone. I'm sorry, Jack, but I promise you, if I go down, I'm going down swinging. I'm giving this thing my all.
I know you don't like hearing this sort of thing, but I think you're amazing. The crap Cerberus put you through was enough to break anyone, but you took it and you used that pain and suffering to make yourself stronger. You didn't come out unscathed, but you wear those scars—physical, mental, and emotional—like badges of honor. As you should. Just don't be afraid to let them go when they're no longer serving you. I think you might already have that part figured out, though, after seeing you with the kids from Grissom Academy. You've done a fantastic job with them, and with a little luck, you aren't mourning any of them right now. If you are though, for what it's worth, I wholly believe you, above anyone else, gave them the best chance at survival. More than anyone else could've.
You've got a fire inside of you, and it burns bright. Do me a favor, and don't hide it, don't hide yourself away after this thing is through. You've got friends now—family—with the Normandy crew, who love you and want you to be in their lives. At Grissom Academy, too. Alright, Psychotic Biotic, I've got a million more of these to write while I've still got the time. Give them hell, Jack.
Shepard